by Mark Barber
“Who did this?”
“It doesn’t matter, Boss,” Rhona shrugged. “You know me. Always shooting my mouth off. The guy only did what the senior here has been wanting to do for the last few months, right?”
Van Noor did not smile at the joke. Tahl tore off his helmet and threw it aside before striding out across the moonlit roof after the MAA soldiers.
“Ryen, wait!” Van Noor called after him. “Ryen!”
“Who assaulted my soldier?” Tahl yelled as he walked across. “Which one of you attacked a prisoner in your custody?”
A few murmurs rippled through the ranks of the soldiers. Van Noor sent a warning order to Squad Jai, readying them to open fire.
“I did,” the MAA captain snarled, walking back out to face Tahl, “and I…”
Tahl’s fist flew up into the soldier’s gut, connecting with a sickeningly audible thump and lifting him off his feet. The man seemed to hang on Tahl’s fist for a moment as he gasped and wheezed before slipping down to his knees. With a crunch of bone, Tahl lashed his elbow out into the captain’s jaw, sending him unconscious to the floor.
Rall’s troopers moved forward, their carbines at the ready and aimed at the crowd of MAA soldiers. A few men put their hands up, others at the back were already leaving via the stairwell. Tahl reached over and reclaimed Rhona’s plasma carbine from the prone MAA officer, before walking back to Owenne and Van Noor.
“Go on,” Owenne said to the remaining soldiers, “disappear.”
The MAA soldiers left the rooftop, leaving the Concord troopers alone. Rhona walked over to Owenne again, her expression fearful.
“I’m sorry for all of this, sir, I…”
“Shut up and go home,” Owenne sighed. “Squad Jai will get you back.”
“We’re not all going?” Van Noor asked.
“Of course not! We’ve still got a job to do! And perhaps we’ll do better with smaller numbers and less chance of being detected.”
Van Noor waited until Rhona was out of earshot, leaving him with only Owenne and Tahl.
“Okay, enough of the shit, Owenne,” he said in a half whisper. “What’s going on here? You’ve been using naval assets to scan this planet for weeks. You abandoned a perfectly good defensive position at the Nienne Desert to bring us here. We’re out on these seemingly random reconnaissance patrols, taking big risks to go nosing around parts of a map which aren’t Concord. Something’s going on.”
Owenne narrowed his eyes and raised a pensive finger to his chin.
“Did I miss some big change where troopers are permitted to question higher level strategy, or am I right in believing your job is to do whatever I bloody well tell you to because I’m the mandarin here, and you are not?”
“Jyn,” Van Noor had never heard Owenne’s first name before Tahl used it. “We’ve known each other a long time. I know you well enough to know that whatever you’re doing, you’re doing it because you think it’s best for the Concord. Now if you tell us, we might be able to help you more than we are at the moment.”
Owenne turned his back and watched as Rall’s troopers departed, leaving the mandarin with only Tahl and Van Noor. As the footsteps receded down the concrete stairwell, the silence of the night was broken only by the crackle of small arms fire somewhere in the city. Owenne turned back to face them.
“Have either of you ever heard of Embryo, in the context of Builder technology?”
Both men shook their heads.
“It will take too long to explain now,” Owenne said, “but when we get back to the firebase, I shall tell you what I know. Something to look forward to. A rare session of openness from me whilst we watch the suns rise over a good bottle of something strong from that large house. But for now, just trust that I actually do know my arse form my elbow, and do as I say.”
“Understood,” Van Noor nodded, “let’s get back to it.”
Chapter Seventeen
Firebase Ghia
Pariton District
Markov’s Prize
L-Day plus 63
A small group of cattle resided some three or four fields down from the mansion outside the firebase entrance, and they were particularly vocal as the second sun peered over the horizon. Owenne stood on the balcony outside his suite on the second floor, swilling a glass of a pungeant, viscous amber liquid that he had found in the cellar a few days previously. His cap was discarded, but he still wore his long coat, covered in a liberal coating of grey dust from the night in the city ruins. Tahl leaned back on the shallow wall which ran around the balcony, made up of smooth pillars of white stone topped with immaculately cut slabs. He still wore his hyperlight armor but had jettisoned the top half, leaving his torso and arms clothed only in the black body glove which was worn beneath the armored plates. Van Noor had insisted on cleaning up after the night in the city and wore his immaculate barrack uniform, despite the close proximity to the city and the likelihood of the firebase suffering another, albeit largely ineffectual, bombardment from MAA or Ghar guns.
“So was it worth it?” Tahl asked, running a hand across his grimy face. “Are we any closer to achieving whatever it is you want to achieve?”
“We’re a little closer,” the mandarin replied pensively, “but not much.”
“Come on then,” Van Noor grunted, “time for the big reveal. What’s the deal?”
“The deal,” Owenne replied quietly, “is that you two will probably be very angry with me because there is a distinct chance that I am killing your men and women and putting everybody in danger for absolutely nothing.”
Another of the curious, bulky animals in the fields to the east let out a hollow warble. Tahl winced and shook his head a little, a sign Van Noor had come to recognize as one of increasing fatigue.
“Enough of the false theatrics,” Van Noor suppressed a yawn, “we get it. Owenne gone done something bad. We’re forewarned. Go on, why are we here.”
“Embryo,” Owenne replied, “it’s the archeological term for one of the first Builder remnant sites, possibly one of the most important. Scattered clues have been found over the last few decades, but nothing tangeable. Nothing definate. But if we could find the Embryo site, it might unlock so much of what we don’t know about the Antarean gates. Why they shut down, maybe even how to delay or stop that. Maybe… some even think Embryo might hold the secrets behind how they were built in the first place.”
Owenne grabbed the bottle of the fiery drink from the little table on the balcony and refilled his glass. He wordlessly offered it to Van Noor and Tahl. Van Noor shook his head. Tahl shoved his glass unceremonially forward for a top up. After seeing Tahl uncharacteristically sink half his glass in one go, Van Noor changed his mind and filled his own again.
“So the upshot,” Tahl said, “is that you think Markov’s Prize is Embryo?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“IMTel records only have fragments of the complete picture. Hundreds of wars over thousands of years of panhuman history have resulted in any clear, complete description of Embryo being completely lost or distorted. All we can hope to do is fit the pieces of the jigsaw together as best we can and try to work out what the picture is, based on with what we have. It’s almost easier to work out where Embryo isn’t rather than where it is, and that eliminates about ninety quantum of Antarean space. So really that only leaves a few thousand planets and a several centuries of searching. Easy, really.”
“Without some crap lesson in astronavigation,” Van Noor interjected, “what evidence do you have and why do you think it’s Markov’s Prize?”
“It’s not as simple as narrowing it down to one sector of Antares,” Owenne explained. “The clues point more to clusters of stars rather than actual coordinates. We know Embryo was on a planet with a breathable atmosphere and in a system with two suns.”
“If Embryo dates back several millenia,” Tahl said, “the last few thousands of years could have changed that atmosphere. That clue may well be out of dat
e.”
“It might, but given the stability of planetary atmospheres, the laws of probability are overwhelmingly in favor of nil significant change. Other clues point to an isolated system with only one neighboring system. Like this one. Embryo was relatively close to its twin suns, giving it a hot atmosphere. Like this one. I could keep going, but the upshot is Markov’s Prize ticks off every clue we have. But so have the last three planets I have investigated over the last twenty years. This could be it. It probably isn’t. But I have to try. Any surviving records will be in the city center archives, and that’s why we were patrolling there all night. I need to know what opposition we’re facing around the archive library. Whatever is in there, it’ll be on paper, or digitized if we’re very lucky. Either way, I need to get in that building.”
“Why push it now?” Van Noor grumbled. “We had a perfectly good position at Nienne. We could have defeated the Ghar. We could have taken over the planet and then you could have strolled right in there and read books to your heart’s content, or whatever processor or generator you have that passes for a heart.”
“I was more than content to wait, until the Freeborn turned up. The Ghar? Those war hungry idiots are only here to use Markov’s Prize as a stepping stone to the next Antarean Gate so they can enslave and kill more people. Our crossing paths is an unhappy coincidence. But the Freeborn? No, not a chance. They know why I’m here. They have ambitions of their own. I can’t let them beat me to that building. And now that the Ghar have it, I can’t let some stray bomb or missile destroy it. Now I know the MAA are using subterranean tunnels to travel under the city, I’m even more concerned. Time is not my ally.”
“That’s all well and good,” Tahl spoke again, “but some things still confuse me. First off, why all the secrecy? Why not tell us the plan? Second – why one building? This planet was advanced enough to network its information.”
“Look, I wouldn’t expect a pair of gun toting thugs like you to understand the intricacies of what is at stake here!” Owenne snapped. “It might not be this building, I don’t know! But if this planet’s scientists had no idea of the importance of Embryo – and judging by what I’ve researched so far, they most certainly did not – then networking and backing up some ancient paper archives hidden in a draw somewhere wouldn’t be top of their priority list! They did’t even know what was right under their noses! It should be obvious, even to the two of you, why this is so important and why there is a real need for secrecy! If this site is here, right under our noses, it could unlock secrets which the Concord could use to alter billions of lives for the better!”
“Could it,” Tahl folded his arms, “or is that speculation?”
“It’s an educated guess,” Owenne admitted, “but a highly, highly educated one. One I am willing to bet on.”
“But you’re betting the lives of Concord soldiers,” Van Noor said.
“Yes. Yes, I am. And I don’t do it lightly. I don’t care for your troopers, but I do value them. I value them greatly. And I don’t want to waste them. So why the secrecy? Because I’m rolling a die, gentlemen. I’m taking a gamble with no concrete evidence. But if it pays off? The conflict of the Seventh Age is all but over. The PanHuman Concord wins. If the Freeborn find Embryo? The technology goes to the highest bidder, eventually to both us and the Isorians, and the conflict continues. Worse still, if the Isorians find it? The Concord is finished.”
Color began to seep into the world as the suns rose higher. A gentle morning breeze brought a wave of warm air across the balcony, rustling the leaves of the trees surrounding the huge house.
“This is crap,” Van Noor spat. “Do you realize just how many ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ and ‘potentiallys’ you’re basing your assumptions on? We should be taking the war to the Isorians with proven facts, not hoping for a miracle by throwing the ball to the far end of the field and hoping somebody is there to catch it! This is nuts! Lunacy!”
“And that’s why I didn’t tell you,” Owenne replied, his tone defensive, “and that’s why I’m giving you a clear and direct order not to tell anybody else. Go on, Killer, you say your piece, too.”
Tahl stood up straight and looked across at the other two men.
“Tell me there is a significant chance this would actually mean something,” he finally said. “Give me your word, Owenne.”
“What?” Van Noor spat. “Come on, Ryen! Use your head! We deal in facts, not mad schemes!”
“I give you my word,” Owenne said seriously, “I’ve spent my entire life following this trail. All of the joking aside, I trust you to fight and kill because you are better at it than I am. Please, trust me to do the thinking and the calculations. If this is Embryo – and I think it is – and one of the research facilities which was instrumental in creating the very gates themselves is here, on this planet, this will add more to the stability and security of the Concord than anything we’ve ever seen, in our generation.”
“Then I’m in,” Tahl nodded. “Bry and I won’t say anything. To anybody. We’ll support you as best we can.”
***
Feeling weariness sinking in after a full night on patrol, Tahl clambered slowly through the access door of the Duke transport drone and sank down into the nearest seat. Owenne had ordered him to the Assault Force HQ, to report directly to Commander-in-Chief Diette. The reason was twofold; mainly to pass on the details they had learned during the night regarding the MAA and Freeborn forces they had encountered, but also to finalize the details of the Commander-in-Chief’s visit to the 44th Strike Formation for the presentation of medals. Two soldiers had been selected for award, and one of them was in his own company. Following Owenne’s recommendation, Rhona was to be awarded the Concord Silver Cross for leading the assault on the Ghar defensive positions outside Pariton.
Tahl winked the sleep out of his eyes as he fastened his seat restraint before taking his beret off and tucking it into one of the epaulettes of his shirt. It was good to be out of armor, even momentarily, as with all of the ergonomics and temperature control in the world it was still bulky and unnatural to wear. The doors to the Duke began to slide shut until a hurried shout to stop was issued and a hand bolted through the doorway to stop them. Rhona vaulted through the door and offered Tahl a quick smile before sitting down opposite him. The doors locked shut and the Duke raised itself to a hover with a barely detectable tremor before yawing around and setting off toward Assault Force HQ.
“You lost?” Tahl asked.
He noticed that her facial wound had been treated and was now fully healed. As petty as it seemed, he was glad he had taken down the perpetrator.
“Mandarin Owenne said I should visit HQ,” Rhona replied, tipping her beret stylishly to the back of her head in flagrant disregard of C3 regulations on standards and military bearing. “I figured now was as good a time as any. He still wants me to leave the strike corps and go join Intelligence.”
“You going to?”
“Nah. Sir.”
“You sure? It’s infinitely safer and it’s a quicker path to promotion,” Tahl offered.
He tried his best to sound sincere, as it was the best course of action open to Rhona, even if he did not want her to take it.
“I’m sure, Boss,” Rhona replied, “it’s not for me. Look… I’m real sorry about last night. About ignoring you and running off and getting into trouble. I honestly didn’t mean to ignore you, it wasn’t a conscious decision. I just got caught up in the moment and gave chase. I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful or anything.”
Tahl rubbed his eyes and stopped himself from blurting out the first response that leapt to mind. The response that she should drop the formalities. Van Noor was right – this was a disaster. When did ‘sir’ stop? Should it? This was a subordinate who he might have to order to her death. Would working in intelligence change that? Would it make a personal relationship viable and not break any regulations? But then again, a personal relationship was a ridiculous idea, C3 aside.
Tahl grew up in a system where a man and a woman married and stayed together for the two or three centuries of their life, perhaps another two or three if they chose to renew their vows after jumping into their clone bodies. But Rhona was from a place where personal relationships and sex were two entirely different things, where a dozen partners was no sign of infidelity and certainly would have no impact on a marriage. That could never work. Rhona was the sort of girl who Tahl’s mother had told him to have something casual with, to get it out of his system before he found the right one. That was, of course, back when Tahl’s mother spoke to him more than two or three times per year.
“Boss?” Rhona leaned forward, fixing her dark eyes on his. “You okay?”
“You don’t need to apologize,” Tahl said quietly, frantically searching for the right things to say and a way to extricate himself from the mess he had created and was solely responsible for. “You made a mistake, that’s all. It was unintentional and it was justifiable in the situation. I wouldn’t be much of a boss if I punished you for that. Just learn from it. I make mistakes all the time, you know that better than anybody.”
Rhona’s look of concern for him turned to something more defensive.
“What d’you mean by that, exactly?”
“You know what I mean. This, us… I screwed up. My job is to get you through campaigns, alive and in one piece, same as every other soldier in this company. My job isn’t to put pressure on you and mess around with your feelings. I’ve got to stop it.”
“Nah, you don’t, sir,” Rhona shook her head.
“This isn’t about work, this is about us. Drop the ‘sir.’”
“I kinda like the rank gradient,” Rhona flashed a smile. “It turns me on.”
“Could you be serious for just a second?”
“I’m sorry, Ryen,” Rhona shrugged. “Go on, I’m listening.”
“I… I don’t know what I was saying now, I’ve lost where I was.”
Rhona slipped off her seat harness and took the single step across the cramped passenger hold to sit on Tahl’s lap, her legs straddling his and her arms around his neck.